Kiss Me
by HarleenQuinn
Summary: When Smithers begins a new romantic relationship with a woman, Mr. Burns must figure out what his feelings of jealousy and guilt are telling him.
1. Chapter 1

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the Simpsons character; however I do own Clara Remington. If you would like to use her, please ask.

Please read and review! Both constructive criticism and praise are very greatly appreciated. Thank you!

Kiss Me

Dark, vague images warped and weaved irate and without relent through my mind as I attempted to sleep peaceably in a cold, dim manor that was far from a perfect purlieu. To most, it may have looked like a sanctuary. With its wine-hued walls, myriad pieces of fine artwork, private theater, and boundless flights of stairs, most would view my home with a sense of awe and envy. However, I knew what truly lurked beneath the grandeur and decadence of my house. I knew the secrets and lies and corruption that haunted the place. Sometimes it made it more beautiful to me, but not at night.

"Smithers? Smithers?" I cried out in his sleep. The nightmares were taking over my soul again, and even clutching Bobo didn't help. I needed him. "Smithers?" He wasn't there. Why the hell wasn't he there? _He has his own apartment, you imbecile. He has his own life, for God's sake_, I thought to myself. But still, I was angry at him for his absence in my time of need. I heatedly reached for my bell and megaphone and rang for twenty minutes straight. He didn't come. I couldn't believe it. Never before when I needed Smithers, he was not there. And with the influence of my haunting dreams also playing a role, I began to break down and cry.

_What are you doing, Monty? Crying over a bad dream? What are you, eight? _I wasn't sure if it was my voice or my mother's who was asking me these questions. _Or are you really crying over that man? That Waylon? Well, you should get over it. Eventually, he'll realize that he has better things to do that to care for some crazy, old man. You should really get used to it now. _

"No!" I shouted, attempting to throw a pillow to the ground but failing due to my lack of strength. "No, that would never happen. I need Smithers. What would I do without him?" _Stop talking to yourself, Monty. _"I can bloody talk to myself if I feel like it! Shut up, Monty!"

I was going a bit insane. Or maybe a little more insane that usual, at least. I jumped down from the bed and in nothing but my pink-and-white-striped nightshirt and slippers, I ambled down to Smithers' apartment and stood outside his window. "Smithers! Smithers!" I bawled with embarrassment, but I didn't know what else to do.

The scene was all too familiar. I remembered a time a few years back when Smithers was married to the most beautiful woman in Springfield. And at first, everything was wonderful between them. At first, I was happy to see my best friend in love. But then something hit me: greater dependence or even jealousy maybe? I wouldn't let myself admit to the latter, but something obviously changed, because I began coming to Smithers' house every night, demanding his presence into the wee hours. He never complained or refused my demands, but his wife requested a divorce within the year.

_It was between them, Monty. It had nothing to do with you. Bah! You didn't ruin Waylon's marriage. _That is what I told myself, but I was never certain of the statements' truth. Smithers had told me that they just weren't meant to be together. It seemed like a vague and unconvincing answer, especially as I had seen what they were like in the beginning of their union. That woman was a sheer wonder: a timeless beauty, a fiery intellectual, and completely in love with my friend Waylon Smithers. And he with her. Or at least, that's how it seemed to me.

I put my guilt about the part I still wondered if I played in the cessation of Smithers' matrimony out of my mind and focused on the present. I hated the feeling of guilt. It was rarely inside me and whenever it was, I knew I had to block it out like the sun. "Smithers!" I called once more. This time, Smithers popped his head outside his window with tired alarm.

"Mr. Burns?! What's wrong? I'll be down in a just minute," he said quickly, and he told the truth. Nearly 60 seconds later, Smithers was bounding down the small steps that ended his apartment complex. He ran to me in nothing but boxers and a robe. I looked away.

"Mr. Burns, what's wrong?" Smithers demanded, panic in his eyes.

"Um…I…" I looked up at him. "I had a bad dream." _Oh, bloody hell, you sound like a baby! _

Smithers looked at me with compassion and relief. "Well, I'm glad to hear that's all it is. You looked very torn up…um…I have company right now, but I'll just tell her to leave and we can go back to your place, and I'll fix you up some tea and…"

"Her? You have female company tonight?" I asked with bewilderment. I couldn't recall the last time Smithers had any romantic escapes. But then I supposed he didn't tell me everything about his life.

Smithers looked taken aback by my question, but nodded. "Uh…yeah, I thought I should give it another try. I mean, I thought it'd be nice is all."

I nodded and attempted to veil my discontent. "Well, I won't keep you from her. I'm fine. Really. I'll just go back to my house and try to get some shut eye."

"No, Mr. Burns, I'll come with you. It's okay."

"No, it's not!" I unintentionally raised my voice. _It's not okay for me to destroy any possible relationship you have. I won't do that again. _"I mean...I'm fine, Smithers. I don't need you to tend to my every whim. I'm a grown man. I can take care of myself."

Smithers vacillated. "Then, why did you come here?"

He hadn't meant it as a resentful interrogation, but that is how I took it. "You audacious waif! I'm going to give you the thrashing of a lifetime!" I began weakly beating my hands again Smithers' bare chest, but I evidently was not inflicting any physical pain on him, so I impeded my beating. I then turned and huffily strode away, back to my lonely, nightmare-abundant manor, where I attempted to fall back asleep to no avail. Now I had the same old dreams about my mother and the war I was in and the first time I ordered to have a man killed…but now added to the dreadful mix was Smithers' divorce. And now also added was my covetous curiosity about his new woman, the first I knew of since his wife. Who was she? How did they meet? Were they already getting serious? _What do you care, Monty? What's the difference? _I wasn't sure, but I knew I had to find out.


	2. Chapter 2

"Top of the morning to you, sir!" Smithers exclaimed jubilantly as he brought a large mug of steaming coffee to my desk the next day.

I took a long sip and then looked up at Smithers, unsmiling. "You sound awfully gay this morning, Smithers."

"Quite the opposite actually," Smithers said, but then hurriedly added, "I mean, quite on the dot actually. Heh."

I stared at him with confusion, but quickly moved on. "So, I'm assuming you and that woman…?"

A flush of apple tones painted Smithers' usually yellow face rosy. He chuckled nervously. "Well, I'd rather not kiss and tell, sir. Um…here's your morning paper, and I'll be right back with your breakfast."

Smithers cheerfully bounced out of my office and left me to gulp my coffee alone with my thoughts. _What in blinking blue blazes is your deal, man? So, Waylon found a new romance. Good for him. Maybe you should do the same instead of obsessing over his. _I sighed. Why was I obsessing? I shook my head and tried to drown my thoughts out with the disturbing stories in the morning paper, but even news of murder and corruption didn't bring a smile to my face.

Smithers came in a few moments later with my favorite breakfast: a solitary pillow of shredded wheat, two pieces of steamed toast, and one Dodo egg. I began eating it without giving thanks to Smithers or the Lord or anyone else that made it possible for me to almost shield my pain with food.

"So, Mr. Burns, did you end up being okay last night? I could barely sleep knowing you were alone and afraid in that mansion."

I scoffed. "I was fine, I tell you!" Then I mumbled, "Besides, it probably wasn't me keeping you from getting your sleep, now, was it?"

There was definitely edge in my voice, and Smithers discerned it. He looked at me curiously and asked, "Is something wrong, Mr. Burns? You're acting kind of…"

"What?" I demanded angrily.

"Uh…never mind. Is there anything else you need this morning?"

I stared at my paper. "No. Just leave me alone."

"But, sir…"

"Do as I say, you imp!" I shouted, tossing a pen at my friend. He caught it, looked down sadly, and left. I sighed and tried to do the Junior Jumble in the paper. "Smithers?" I called shortly afterward.

He returned instantaneously. "Yes, sir?"

"Tonight you will bring your new lady friend over to my manor for dinner."

Surprised, Smithers hesitated and said, "Well, okay, Mr. Burns. What time would you like us there?"

"Well, you'll be preparing the dinner, of course," I noted. "So, what do we say…4:30?"

Smithers averted his eyes and chortled uneasily. "Well, sir, most people eat dinner later in the night, like at 7."

I gasped. "7? Why, I'd be in bed by then! I don't believe you."

"Well, sir, you could ask anyone and they'd say…"

"What about that fellow right there?" I pointed on the surveillance camera to a rotund, oafish man eating a box of donuts at his station. "Who is that?"

"That's Homer Simpson, sir. One of your lethargic boors from Sector 7-G."

"Simpson, eh? Ask him when 'normal' people eat dinner!"

Smithers called Simpsons' station and asked, "Homer Simpson? Mr. Burns wants to know the normal time that you and your family eat dinner."

"Dinner? Ah…dinner…" Simpson sighed. On the camera, we saw him drooling.

I shook my head in frustration. "Oh, forget it. We'll dine at 7."


	3. Chapter 3

Smithers arrived at my house a couple hours earlier not only to cook the meal but also to bathe and clothe me nicely for the event. Usually I enjoyed being so completely dependent on Smithers, but sometimes I detested it. This was one of those times. I felt so filled with self-loathing and inadequacy. But Smithers didn't seem to notice. He scrubbed my corrugated, old skin with the same tenderness and normalcy he always did.

"So, tell me about this woman. What's her name?"

"Clara Remington."

"Been married?"

"Once."

"Kids?"

"Not yet."

This answer set me back a bit, but I continued. "What does she do for a living?"

"She's the curator for the new modern classics museum over on Broadway. That's how we met, actually. I was pouring plaudits upon the fabulous doll gallery, and we got to talking. She actually recognized me as being the owner of the largest Malibu Stacey collection in the world, and I told her she could come see it sometime, and well, one thing led to another."

I cringed a bit for reasons unknown to me at the time. "So, you're quite taken with her?"

"Um…I think so."

We were silent for a long ten minutes subsequent to our discourse, until Smithers asked me, "So, are you sure everything is all right, sir? You know that you'll always be my first priority, if that's what you're concerned about."

"No, that's not it," I replied honestly. I felt a strange heat fill my face and a shiver climb up my spine as Smithers began washing my inner thigh. I quickly said, "That's enough bath for me. I'm clean. Now, help me out."

Our evening commenced exactly at 7 when Miss Clara Remington arrived in a beautiful, sapphire BMW and an even more beautiful, sapphire dress. I nudged to Smithers as we watched her walk to the door from the window. "I thought you said she was a museum curator. Yet she comes here in a BMW and a dress that could easily pass for Oscar De La Renta!"

Smithers laughed. "Well, sir, she does have quite a bit of money. She used to be a model." The doorbell rang.

I scoffed. "Hm. Well. Answer the door, then."

Smithers gladly did so. I watched with strange anger as he kissed her hello and took her coat. After staring at their brief tête-à-tête, I made my way to them and proffered the woman my hand. "Monty Burns," I offered.

"Clara Remington. It's so marvelous to meet you," she said jocularly. And heavens, she was beauteous with her brilliant, tourmaline eyes, platinum blonde hair, and full lips the chromaticity of cherries. Smithers certainly had all the luck when it came to women, the few he actually was with, at least.

"I'm sure Smithers had told you all about me," I said confidently, well-aware of my friends' patent adulation of me.

But then she looked a bit uneasy and answered, "Well, um…yes, of course." Smithers averted his eyes. _He didn't tell her about me? _I couldn't believe the event. My ire grew.

"Well, sir, shall we commence our dinner?"

I sneered and sat down at my usual dining chair. While Smithers was preparing the food on our plates in the kitchen, I decided to have a little slice of conversation and dissertation with Smithers' fair maiden. "So, you're new to Springfield, I assume?" A friendly enough question delivered in a perfectly unfriendly tone of voice.

"Well, yes," she answered.

I continued, "Where do you hail from?"

She smiled. "Well, I know now how Springfield townspeople feel about Shelbyville, but I have to admit, that's my hometown."

"Shelbyville?! That blasted, fetid hellhole putrid imbeciles somehow mistake for a town?"

Hearing my slight upsurge of rage, Smithers rushed in with the food, fretfully tittering as he had seemed to do a lot lately. "Heh-heh. Mr. Burns, Shelbyville is actually quite a nice town. Clara and I went there last weekend, and I must say, it's wonderful there."

I had had about enough already. "You're only saying that because you're sleeping with the damn fool!" Smithers and Clara gasped and stared at me with matching countenances of shock.

I rose from my seat and threw my bib down on the table. "I'm not hungry. I'm going to bed. And I don't need you to tuck me in tonight!" I shouted as I stormed off into my chambers.

_Oh, Monty, what ever is wrong with you? _I wondered as I endeavored with all my strength to pull my covers over me exactly snug like Smithers was so adept at doing. After a five-minute struggle with the stubborn sheets, I accomplished my task and lay in bed, staring at the dark ceiling with wide eyes. Even though I managed to tuck myself in without Smithers, it wasn't the same. Not at all. I couldn't fall asleep without his gentle hands touching me once more, without his comforting voice bidding me sweet dreams, without feeling the last smile that I always knew was plastered on his face as he left the room. I sighed.

Something was wrong with me. Something was terribly wrong with me, and I could not pinpoint what it was. Therefore, I had no idea of how to go about fixing it. And even worse, I wasn't entirely sure I wanted to.


	4. Chapter 4

The next day I went to see Dr. Hibbert. I hadn't been to the doctor's office for a checkup in quite some time, but I needed desperately to know what was wrong with me. So, I sauntered down to Hibbert's clinic and sat patiently in the waiting room, looking through odd book-like objects filled with nothing but celebrity gossip.

I then came to a page in one of them that featured two male specimens in a lip-lock. I stared at it, agape. I had never seen anything quite like it. It made me feel exceedingly uncomfortable and yet intrigued. The former emotion was more prominent, though, so I hastily shut the book and tossed it on the counter, my facing feeling rather searing with mortification at the image or maybe just with my interest in it. At that moment, a young nurse called me back, and I was more than grateful to get away from that book-like thing and try to expunge the picture from my mind.

"Why, hello, Mr. Burns! I haven't seen you here in, oh, twenty years!" Hibbert exclaimed upon seeing me. "How have you been doing? Besides running over that little boy, getting shot, opening that failed recycling corporation…"

Crossly, I interrupted, "I've been quite well, thank you. Now, I need to know what's wrong with me, doc. I've been having the strangest feelings lately."

"Stomach aching? Head?"

I wasn't quite sure. "Well, I guess I feel it mostly in my stomach."

"And what does it feel like? Throbbing? Being stabbed?" Hibbert began to chuckle. I didn't know why and didn't care.

"No, no, no. It feels like…someone is constantly punching my stomach, but they are not stopping and repeating, it's like one big punch that goes in but never comes out."

Hibbert considered this description and smiled. "Well, Mr. Burns, I'd say you may very well be in love! That or you might have gastroenteritis. Heh-heh!"

I looked down, unsure of everything I was. "Well, let's hope it's gastroenteritis then. Because if I'm in love, then I…I really don't know anything anymore."

Hibbert smiled. "Okay, I'll keep my fingers crossed for gastroenteritis then."

By the end of my appointment, Hibbert had come to a diagnosis. No gastroenteritis for me. I was in love. And I didn't know what to do.

_How could you do this, Monty? Falling in love with your best friend? With a man, to boot? _I couldn't wrap my mind around the idea, so I concluded that sitting alone on a park bench was the only thing that could possibly soothe my rattled nerves.

"Hi, Mr. Burns!" suddenly piped a small voice.

I reluctantly turned around to face the person, a little girl clad nattily in a strapless red dress, with an elegant band of pearls adorning her neck. "What do you want, little girl?" I asked wearily.

"Mr. Burns, don't you remember me? I'm Lisa Simpson. Homer Simpson's daughter?"

"Homer Simpson?"

"Remember? I'm the one you opened the recycling business with…?" twittered Lisa.

"Ah, yes. What a great team we made," I jeered sardonically.

"Hm." Lisa looked at me with a bit of scorn. But then her eyes grew wide and concerned. "Mr. Burns, you look terrible. No offense, but I've never seen you look so sickly and downtrodden. Is anything the matter?"

I hesitated. _Well, I need someone to talk to. And obviously, I can't talk to Smithers right now. Might as well talk to this little girl. _

Lisa sat down next me and swung her legs back and forth with concern. "Go ahead, Mr. Burns. I'm listening."

I took a deep breath and hunched forward. "I think I'm in love, little girl."

Lisa beamed. "Oh, really? Well, that's great! Congratulations!"

"It's not a good thing!" I exclaimed, taking Lisa aback with fear. "I'm in deep trouble with this one."

"Why? What's the problem?"

"_The _problem. Ha. There are innumerable problems, Miss Lisa. I don't know where to begin."

Lisa attempted, "Which one is giving you the most trouble?"

"All of them. Blast, I don't know what to do. And I can't ask Smithers."

Lisa looked up curiously. "Why not? I'm sure Mr. Smithers would be glad to help you."

I gave her no reply. I suppose I didn't have to. I just stared out at the jeweled leaves of autumn swirling in the vacant wind. Lisa then posed the question: "Mr. Burns, are you in love with Mr. Smithers?"

"Of course not! That's preposterous. I'm a _man_, Lisa."

"Mr. Burns, with all due or maybe not so due respect, men and men have been falling in love since the beginning of time."

I waved my hand at her dismissively. "Bah! Nonsense. I lived through most of our beloved centuries and never have I seen anything like what I saw today in a book called 'People Magazine October Edition'."

Lisa smiled weakly. "Well, maybe you haven't seen it, but it's been there. And in today's time, people are more accepting of all kinds of love than ever before."

I turned my head from her. "Well, perchance so, but it doesn't matter. I'm not in love with Smithers."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Of course I'm sure about that!"

"Then what is the problem with your current romantic situation?" Lisa inquired. I knew then that I shouldn't have agreed to this pointless conversation.

I grudgingly answered, "Well, I suppose the age difference is a factor. By God, I'm 61 years older than…her. And it's not just that. It's…we've been friends for so long. And I know…she…doesn't feel the same way."

"How do you know?"

"Because she would never…she's much too good and smart and capable to ever…" Lisa looked at me inquisitively. I shrugged. "Besides, she already has a girl…boy…friend. And I already destroyed one of her relationships. I can't do that again. I might be a cold-hearted bastard sometimes, but I couldn't do that to her again. She seems really happy right now."

"Mr. Burns, you should really tell…her."

"Tell her what? That some wretched, old man just now figured out the emotions he had been feeling for her for the last twenty-five years and now expects to ruin both our friendship and her new relationship for some bizarre romance that isn't even right and could never really be requited?" I asked with hopelessness.

Lisa looked sad for me. That was a rare thing, for someone to pity me. "Tell her that you love her. Tell her you don't expect anything. Tell her that your love for her outweighs your need for her, therefore allowing her to continue her relationship and possibly your friendship. But Mr. Burns, she really needs to know, and you really need to tell her. Before it's too late."

I buried my head in my hands, fraught with fear and confusion. Lisa put her hand to mine. "And Mr. Burns, I have a good feeling that he loves you too."


	5. Chapter 5

I looked like a complete mess the next morning. I hadn't had Smithers to bathe me, dress me, comb what little hair I had left on my head…I was a disaster. I didn't want Smithers to see me like that, but I had no choice. He came in early to pour my coffee, deliver my paper, and serve my breakfast: our beloved morning routine. _You already have all these routines together, Monty. It's always been a romance waiting to happen. No, no. Stop those thoughts. They're wrong and unrequited. Remember that. _

"Here you go, sir," Smithers said in an unusually flat tone of voice, bordering on angry.

I cringed, thinking of the penultimate night. "Smithers, I…I want to apologize for the other night. I don't know what got into me. She seemed like a perfectly nice girl. And a fit bird, that one. Yes."

Smithers offered me a frail smile. "Thank you for your apology. But it's too late."

"Too late?"

"I broke up with Clara that night, sir," Smithers said, turning away. "I thought that if she displeased you so, I could never really be with her."

"You did what?" I exclaimed, knocking over a bit of coffee, which Smithers immediately cleaned up.

Smithers reiterated, "I broke up with Clara."

"Because of me? Smithers, how could you, you idiot?"

Smithers shrugged. "You're my first priority. You know that."

I shook my head in shock. "Oh, Smithers, why do you keep doing this to me?"

His eyes filled with pain, Smithers asked, "What? Keep doing what to you?"

"Making me the one that ends all of your romances. Making me the one with the guilt over your obvious unhappiness."

Smithers stared at me in surprise. "I…I don't know what to say. I'm so sorry, Mr. Burns, if I ever…"

"Pish posh. Forget it. Let's forget this whole thing ever happened."

Gazing at and through me with his massive eyes, Smithers began to say something quietly, but stopped himself. After a few moments of the most awkward silence I have ever endured, I said, "Well, we should get on with our day then. Today I want you to refill my calligraphy pen, fire two employees, re-alphabetize my files, and…" I hesitated. Looking into Smithers' eyes as I spoke to him, I realized that I didn't want to forget this ever happened. I didn't want to forget the turmoil I had been through the last week. I didn't want to forget my revelation of love.

Smithers asked, "Yes, sir? Is there anything else you want me to do?"

"Yes, there is," I began nervously. "I want you to kiss me." I couldn't believe I had let the words trip out from my mouth into the air. Neither could Smithers. I had never in twenty-five years seen him look as utterly stunned as he did then. I didn't know if it was a good kind of stunned or not, though. For once, I couldn't read his eyes.

But I could read his lips. Still astounded, Smithers approached me and our lips met softly without another word spoken between us after my disquieting proclamation. We had kissed once before, when Smithers believed the world was going to be destroyed, and even then, I felt something. But it wasn't quite like this. No, nothing was quite like this.

After our lips parted, I didn't know what to say. What could I possibly say? We both stood there in silence until Smithers spoke. "Mr. Burns, I…does this mean…?"

"I don't know what it means. I mean, Smithers, you…Clara, your wife…and me, I've had 207 female companions…I don't know what this is."

"Sir, I, well, I…" Smithers mumbled. "I loved my wife and I was beginning to love Clara, but…it's always been you, Mr. Burns. If I knew there was any possibility of, well, this, I would never have turned to either of them in the first place. It's only that I began to realize that you were not in love with me and never would be, so I thought I should just try. I mean, I thought it probably wouldn't work, but I thought I owed it to myself to give a 'normal' relationship one more try."

"I see," I said quietly.

"But it didn't work. Even if you had loved Clara for me, it wouldn't have worked. Because it's you, sir. It's you whom I love," Smithers admitted freely for the first time in his life.

I looked down. "Smithers, I want to…I want to be with you. But I don't think I can wrap my mind around the idea of being with another man. It's just not me. It's just not right."

Panicked, Smithers responded, "Oh, sir. It is right. If you love me and I love you, what else matters?"

I shifted uncomfortably in my chair as I answered, "I have a reputation to uphold in this town. I need to be feared. And no one would be intimidated by a sissy pants."

"What's more important, sir? Your ability to intimidate or your ability to be happy?"

I looked at Smithers, then to my desk, then to the surveillance cameras, unable to know what to say. Then Smithers took my hand and said, "I love you, Mr. Burns."

And suddenly, I knew what to say. "I think you can call me Monty now."

THE END


End file.
